


Myths and Games

by dragonofdispair



Series: Kite Strings [3]
Category: Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Dragons, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Board Games, Dragons, Games, Gen, Happily Ever After, Knights - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-11
Updated: 2016-07-11
Packaged: 2018-07-22 23:22:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,751
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7457704
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dragonofdispair/pseuds/dragonofdispair
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Smokescreen gets his version of happily ever after.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Myths and Games

**Author's Note:**

> Response to the writing group’s Games challenge: write a scene where the characters play a game.

Smokescreen landed almost a full orn’s hike from the gates of Iacon, well away from the main road. Not that the road was in use anymore; no one visited Iacon during one of the Decepticons’ twice-a-generation sieges. He would bet actual shanix he was going to be the first. He grinned a toothy dragon-grin at the thought. Too bad there was no one nearby to take that bet. Checking again that he was alone, he transformed, packing the great bulk of his dragon-form away into subspace. An almost unbelievably tiny mech-form stepped out of cover and onto the road.

It was, understandably, in quite a state of disrepair. Good. It wouldn’t look strange that he was walking in, rather than driving. 

The first dragon of Smokescreen’s sparkline he knew the name of had installed both a transformation cog and enough subspace to take on a mech disguise. That tradition had continued until Prowl and Bluestreak. Only two sparks of a size to power dragon frames were released from the lunar Well of Sparks at a time. Smokescreen’s parents had unexpectedly caught both and been forced to scramble to get both frames built before they faded. They hadn’t had the time or the parts to add in the transformation cogs and subspace that would allow Prowl and Bluestreak to take on mech disguises. As far as he knew, Smokescreen was the only one left alive who could do this. But Smokescreen was no triple-changer; he had the kibble for a car-form as part of this disguise, but not the systems.

His arrival at the gates, just as the sun was beginning to set, garnered him some suspicious looks. But the guards were not willing to turn away a traveller to the mercy of the night and the dragons that hunted under the light of the moon. Smokescreen suppressed a snort — like  _ he _ had anything to fear from dragons! — and further mollified them by spinning out a tale of pilgrimage to the Temple of Primus, to pay his respects to the Starsaber housed there, now that Decepticons no longer barred his way. Smokescreen’s mech-form was so obviously not built for fighting that no one even questioned why, if he was so devout, he had never come to fight and defend the Temple during the sieges.

He had flown — more than high enough to avoid being spotted while he hunted — over Iacon during the siege, and could see the changes being forced to fight at night had wrought on the city’s habits, compared to earlier centuries. The lights remained bright, careful watch was kept regardless of the late hour, and seekers patrolled the skies, the roar of their engines never quite fading into the distance. But overall he could see the majority of mechs returning to the rhythm of rest-and-prayer-and-play that had been the nighttime activities of choice before the terrorcons.

True to his story, he went to the Temple first.

Smokescreen had always been mostly-indifferent to Primus. True, the blessed swords of the Knights were infamous for their ability to cut dragon armor like dragon-teeth could, and most dragons outright hated the mechs’ god for granting prey the ability to kill them. But Smokescreen had spent more time on the surface of Cybertron than any other dragon of his generation, much of it to collect his hoard rather than to hunt. He had watched the stories evolve from the mech side of the flight, from here to the moon. In the older stories, Primus had only given his favored a fighting chance. The god himself did not hold any special enmity to dragons in those old stories. Knights didn’t just randomly show up on the moon to hunt dragons, after all; they came to rescue and avenge their own. Smokescreen had always just looked on and thought that those dragons had rather deserved it, for hunting the one sort of prey who could fight back. 

Then he had been forced to kidnap a mech of his own. He’d thought, when he’d snatched Starscream, that he would only need the seeker for a few days and then he could be let go — no danger of a Knight showing up. But then Starscream had made Bluestreak cry, and Smokescreen had decided he didn’t care about Primus’ potential retribution… at least until Jazz had appeared in his lair. 

The memory made Smokescreen shudder. If it had been anyone else… If Jazz hadn’t somehow lost his Knight on the journey from Cybertron’s surface… 

_ Thank you, _ he offered to the altar and the Sword.  _ Thank you for your leniency. _

Three dragons were more than a match for a knight, of course, even if two of them were young, but there were good odds that at least one of them would have been killed had Jazz’s Knight, rather than Jazz by himself, been the one to make it to the cave. Spark-breaking as it would have been to lose either Prowl or Bluestreak, it would have been a death sentence for them both had Smokescreen been the one to perish. Instead, Jazz had arrived with two companions who were  _ not _ knights. A brave and determined squire. As formidable as he and his friends had proven against Scrapper, he’d had only a small gun and a kite. No holy weapon of his own. He had bargained and gambled for Starscream’s freedom, rather than trying to kill them all. 

The mechs’ god did not respond to a dragon’s prayer. Smokesceen didn’t even know if he could hear it. 

Despite its sincerity, the prayer had  _ not _ been the reason he’d come to Iacon. Exiting the temple, he looked around with avarice, searching… there! A pair of off-duty guards and a couple of younger mechs — seasoned warriors all, despite their youth — were playing a game. One Smokescreen recognized, for all that the one time he’d played it before it had been traced out on flimsy, while the mechs here had a proper game-board. He still had the flimsy, of course, but he  _ wanted _ the board.

A couple hundred in won shanix wouldn’t be remiss either, but it didn’t look like the group was actually betting anything, and it wouldn’t do to appear  _ greedy _ to them…

“Hello,” he said brightly as he approached, “I’m Smokescreen, here for a few days on pilgrimage. I don’t think I’ve seen that game before,” he lied. “Could you teach me how to play?”

“Sure,” chirped the smallest, a yellow mech whose field felt very, very young. Not truly a newspark, but had he been a dragon, Smokescreen knew this mech would still have his overrides active. “I’m Bumblebee,” he smiled, wide and guileless and not at all like a mech who had just been through a war. “This is my creche-mate, Windcharger.” The other small mech nodded in greeting. “And those are Sideswipe and Sunstreaker.” The older guards were not as guileless. The red one held out his hand in greeting with a smile, but there was suspicion in the way his transformation seams remained unlocked around his weapons, and his armor stayed loose, flexible, and ready to move. Sunstreaker wasn’t even that friendly, simply huffing in acknowledgement at being introduced. These two were seasoned warriors. 

Good thing Smokescreen didn’t actually have anything nefarious planned. He really did just want to play this game, buy one of the boards, then leave before anyone caught on. 

“Pleased to meet you all,” he said.

He barely listened as Bumblebee explained the game, just enough to pick out if there were any differences between this one and the version Jazz had explained. Instead he examined the board. Much smaller than the flimsy sheet, it was made of thicker, sturdier plastic, and was designed to accommodate the custom round coins rather than the rectangular shanix Jazz’s had been. Two different maps adorned it, one on each side (and the group had three different boards for a total of six little maps!) — just to keep things interesting, Smokescreen would bet. He grinned at the silent joke.

In deference to the fact that he had, as far as these mechs knew, just learned the game, Smokescreen was paired with Bumblebee for his first match.

It started with a coin flip.

That was one of the things that Smokescreen had loved about the game when Jazz had taught it to him. It was a  _ strategy game. _ Smokescreen loved strategy games. Each side attempted to claim territory on the map with their coins. That could be done through a number of actions. Things like placing one of the coins from the bank onto the map (either directly on the map, or a smaller coin on a larger one to take the space, but by doing so, the value of holding that space was reduced). Or paying the opponent with one coin, or moving all the coins on one space of the map to another, or removing the top coin from a stack. Some spots were inherently worth more than others, but where Jazz had only penned in the values, these maps actually had stylized terrain and interesting names like  _ Hot Property _ and  _ Goldfarme. _ Very strategic, and very amusing.

But the coins themselves ruled this game. There were four different values of coins. To start the turn and determine what actions could be taken, they were flipped. Heads or tails when they landed, and the ones that matched the player’s country (The People’s Republic of Tails or the Royal Kingdom of Heads) determined what actions could be taken. Luck and skill all rolled into a single game. Smokescreen also adored games of luck. Both, in one, was always a fantastic find. Iaconian games were always so…  _ interesting. _

Victory points were tallied by who owned which territories, how much those territories were worth, and what rank of coin was on the top of the stack.

Jazz had called the game  _ Iacon vs Kaon _ but this group called it  _ Heads vs Tails. _ Smokescreen smiled in delight at the fake coins, etched with “The People’s Republic of Tails” on one side and “The Royal Kingdome of Heads” on the other… Stars above, he  _ needed _ one of these boards. He played a few rounds with Sideswipe, Sunstreaker, Bumblebee and Windcharger for a chance to learn some strategies and talk to them. When he asked where he could buy one of these for himself, they told him that a mech named Wheeljack fabricated the boards, and gave him directions to where the mech could be found. He thanked them and set off to find the “workshop”.

The doors leading down into the basement of the workshop were open, and Smokescreen knocked peeking in. 

A flash of light and a deafening  _ boom! _ covered everything (including Smokescreen) with soot as he jumped back (and  _ almost _ transformed back into a dragon), but didn’t seem to actually do any damage.

“Ooops!” the mech inside said, before calling out, “Sorry ‘bout that! It’s safe to come in now though!”

Smokescreen wasn’t entirely sure that could be believed, but he  _ really  _ wanted that game board. He wiped the soot from his optics so he could see, and edged his way in. “Are you Wheeljack? Sideswipe said I could get a  _ Heads vs. Tails _ game from you.”

“That’s me!” The vocal indicators on the sides of the mech’s head tried to flash, but the light was muted by the soot  _ he _ hadn’t bothered wiping away. “Whoa. Lookit you! Been an age and a half since I’ve seen a Praxan. I didn’t think anyone built those frames anymore, since, well, you know. Game!” He changed the subject decisively; Praxus was not something anyone wanted to talk about to a random, unknown Praxan. Smokescreen wasn’t really Praxan, but he didn’t want to talk about the city either. He wanted a game board. “You totally can! Get one from me! I can have one of those tomorrow! Ah.. uh…” he looked around at the mess. “Maybe three days. You still going to be around then…?”

“Smokescreen,” he filled in the blank the mech was waiting for, “and yes. I’ll still be here.” He was practically drooling at the thought of a new game-board and a planet full of new opponents. He didn’t resent Prowl and Bluestreak for needing the care, but a dragon needed to attend his hoard. Smokescreen’s had been neglected for far too long. 

Prowl had left his formerly-treasured cybertriops behind, according to Bluestreak’s confused ramblings. Smokescreen had just shrugged. Prowl could fly now; he wouldn’t be the first youngling to lose interest in his first hoard when he grew up. Smokescreen wasn’t worried. Prowl would pick up a new hoard. Maybe kites, like that little pest who’d used one to teach the two of them to fly.

No… it was the state of his  _ own _ hoard Smokescreen worried about now. Three days for a new game board? He’d wait.

“‘Smokescreen’ huh?” the mech’s tone turned speculative. “Nice t’meet’cha. Jazz says ‘hi’, and Prowl’s doin’ fine, from what I hear.”

Frag. He should have known… just because he hadn’t ended up dead in the process didn’t mean Jazz hadn’t rescued someone from the clutches of an evil dragon. Story like that took generations to fade into myth — Smokescreen  _ should _ have waited for it to do so. But sometimes games like this — games created by younglings — faded quickly, and were forgotten as soon as their creators grew out of them. Smokescreen hadn’t wanted to risk this game disappearing.

“Jazz who?” the dragon in disguise tried, already planning his route out of the workshop and palace and into the open air, where he could escape. Meanwhile,  _ stall. _

“Hey… I ain’t…” Wheeljack took a few steps forward, as Smokescreen took a few back —

— And ran into another mech, coming into the workshop. 

“Sorry,” the mech said as he steadied Smokescreen. “I wasn’t watching where I was going.”

Smokescreen turned to look at this new obstacle to his escape and froze.  _ Drift was actually  _ **_taller_ ** _ than him! _

“Drift,” Wheeljack said evenly. “This is Smokescreen. He wants a  _ Heads vs. Tails _ board.”

“Really?” The last time Smokescreen had seen Drift, he’d been so dirty, his color had been all but indistinguishable. Now his plating was pristine-white, with striking red and yellow accents. He crossed his arms across his chest and Smokescreen could see the daggers sheathed on each wrist. The shiv he recognized, even clean and polished, but its finely crafted twin was new. Twin daggers fit Drift as a combat style; the dragon remembered well the scent of Scrapper’s energon clinging to the shiv. It hadn’t done much damage to the Constructi-dragon, but that it had done any… Smokescreen did not want to test his mech-disguise’s armor against it.

“Look,” Smokescreen said cajolingly. “I’m not here to cause any trouble. I just wanted to buy a board and then I’m gone.”

“No,” Drift said, “That ain’t — I mean — That is not the problem. I’ve been waiting for you to show up, I just thought you’d be, you know,  _ you. _ Bigger. Can Prowl do that? With the…” Drift gestured at Smokescreen’s current (lack of) height.

What? “No. Our parents didn’t have the time to add it to the kids’ frames in the rush to get them both built.”

“Too bad… Lotta — I mean. There is a lot that would be easier for them if they could.” Drift shook away his thoughts. “Whatever. Doesn’t matter. They’re cuter than cybercats as they are. You came here for a  _ Heads vs. Tails _ board, though. Knew you would. And I’ve got one for you… if you do one little thing for me.”

The dragon’s interest perked. Drift would  _ give _ him a board, in exchange for, “What?”

The white mech smiled. “I want you to kick Wheeljack and Ratchet’s afts at  _ Rogues and Warriors. _ Those two have been lording their unchallenged championship at that game over us for  _ weeks _ and I’m sick of listening to them. Show’em how a real mech, uh, real  _ gamer _ does it, and the  _ Heads vs. Tails _ board is yours.”

Smokescreen couldn’t help it. His systems heated with avarice. A new game, won playing against the city champions of an older game…? Drift did know how to push his buttons, didn’t he? It was possible he’d lose, but that just made winning it so much  _ better _ than just buying it. There were maybe a million reasons he shouldn’t agree to this, but he was a  _ dragon. _ He couldn’t exactly help it. 

He grinned, not even trying to hide his teeth. “Sure, I can do that.”

.

.

,

end


End file.
